30 Memories
by Tasogare-Taichou
Summary: NejiHina. Done for the 30 Kisses challange, there will eventually be 30 chapters to this, each a oneshot, not necessarily related to each other in regards to continuity.
1. Perfect Blue

It had started with a stupid questionnaire. Nothing of any real importance, merely a piece of simple white paper with printed text on one side. A thing that those who bore the name of ANBU took as simply another task to complete before they went on their next mission. Something that _should_ have made little difference to their newest member, Hyuuga Neji. And on some levels, it didn't make a difference. The reasoning behind the chart was sound. A simple survey test to determine if those who wore the painted masks were still able to cling to what small shreds of sanity remained after so much blood spilled on once-clean hands. It wasn't even the fact that he, who was most certainly stable, should have to fill out this farce when it was obvious to _him_ that there were others who needed sanity-monitoring much more then he did. No, it was the third question on the paper, bold-face words staring up at him mockingly, that seemed to enjoy causing strife to the 20-yr old ANBU.

**What is your favourite colour?**

Well that in itself wasn't that hard to answer. Blue was a simple enough word, characters easy to write, nothing difficult there. But it was the second portion of the question that seemed to vex him.

**What would you define as the "perfect" shade of that colour, and why?**

The perfect shade of colour? What was that supposed to mean? Neji assumed it probably meant something to do with his absolute favourite shade of blue. Which would have been simple, had he _known_ what that shade was. Not to mention, why did something so pointless aggravate him so much. Maybe it was the sheer fact that he couldn't seem to answer it. He hated not knowing the answer to anything. Hinata always teased him about it when she brought him tea on those late nights when he would be up finishing reports, trying gently to shoo her work-burdened husband off to bed. What would _she_ do to come up with an answer?

He could picture her, smiling at him as she fixed dinner, shaking her head slightly and sending long dark tresses sliding over one shoulder. She'd probably laugh at him and suggest that he do something easy, like thinking of possibilities and then acting on them. Which...made sense. After all, his "perfect" shade of blue must obviously be a shade he had seen. So the only logical conclusion was to determine just what it was in his life that was blue. Flipping the paper over, the long-haired Jounin began making a simple list.  
There were the obvious things, of course. The sky, the water of the river that ran through the forest as it reflected that same sky. The blue paint that adorned many a signpost and window-dressing through the streets of Konohagakure. The deep royal blue colour of the hitai-ate worn by the year's newest Genin as they raced through the village, hoping for a "super-mission". But none of those shades proved to be the elusive "perfect colour" that he was looking for.

Thinking harder, Neji tried to think of things closer to home, things that in themselves meant more to him then the mundane and ordinary of every-day existence. Blue was the colour of the lines on his own mask, the cerulean slashes forming into the mimicry of a bird's face. Blue was the colour of the bruises he always seemed to sport when he came home, the ones Hinata worried and fussed over. Blue was even the colour of the band-aid she had smacked onto his cheek that time when he had unwisely tried to suggest that his then-pregnant wife might be over-reacting to a mere cut.

Blue was...the colour of Hinata's hair, reflecting the pale moonlight at night when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed gentle kisses to the nape of her neck. That thick, midnight-deep indigo that fell down her back in long tresses of ink-like smoothness that was mimicked and mirrored in the hair of his twin daughters. Blue was the colour she dressed their infant son in, so proud that she'd been able to finally give him the son he'd wanted. It was the colour she had painted their daughters' bedroom, a soft sky-toned thing set with puffy clouds and the occasional peeking star. He'd been proud of it, and rather awed by the talent for painting that he'd never even known she'd possessed, even though he'd never told her.

Blue was the colour of her favourite kimono, the soft pale shade bringing out the rosy hues of her skin, making her white eyes sparkle, the darker blue flowers embroidered into the silk playing companion to her hair. He'd given it to her the winter after their daughters were born, after finding it in a shop in Yukigakure, and since then she'd refused to wear anything else to winter Matsuri.

It was the colour of the shirt she'd worn to watch the Chuunin exams, and even then when his heart had still been full of rage and hatred, he'd still noticed it. Still thought the shade suited her. Blue was the colour of that ridiculous apron she'd made him wear the first anniversary of their marriage, when he'd stubbornly insisted that _he_ would fix their anniversary dinner because he most certainly _could_ cook. Blue was also the colour of the tablecloth at the restaurant he had taken her to after his rather embarrassing and spectacular culinary failures. He'd decided after that to rather graciously accept the fact that perhaps there _were_ things that he was unable to master.

And Hinata...Hinata herself was blue. Not just in the tint of her hair or the shade of her dress or the fabric of the hitai-ate she still wore around her neck even though her days of mission-going were mostly over. Her spirit was blue. In childhood and youth, it had been the deep blue of sadness and depression, washing over her in frigid waves of doubt and despair. And when that had slid away, the depth of colour had given way to the cool crisp blue of a summer sky, as she tossed her dreams heavenward regardless of the numerous times others aimed to crush them.

But there were other blues to the woman he had made his wife. Blues Neji had never noticed, never appreciated. The soft, pale blue of skylight reflected in the new-fallen snow that was as pure as her heart and as gentle as her hands. The bright and clear colour of concentrated chakra as she worked to heal wounds given to him or to others she cared for. The steely-cold flash of blue that lurked behind white eyes and darted it's head out in those rare occasions when Hyuuga Neji learned that Hyuuga Hinata did, in fact, possess both backbone _and_ temper. And the deep, boundless sea of calm that rushed so close beneath the surface of his wife. _His_ "perfect blue".

With a smile and a whimsical look in his eye, Neji put pencil to paper, no longer vexed by such a simple question. After all, the answer, in his eyes, was just as simple.


	2. Homecoming

Title: Homecoming

Pairing: NejiHina

Fandom: Naruto

Theme: #11: Gardenia

It is the coppery tang of blood in the air, the metallic and unmistakable scent that so characterizes the world he belongs to. That harsh, cold stench clung to him, weaving it's way into hair and clothing and – it seems – his very pores themselves. As though he can never be clean, never be free of the sanguine taint that marks his everyday life as a shinobi.

Not like her. Never like her. And he doesn't know how the crimson stains seem to wash away from her hands, leaving porcelain skin clean and pure, as though untouched by the things she has seen, things she has done. But she never smells of blood. Rather, she smells of sunlight and warmth and home. And that one specific scent that seems so uniquely her.

Stepping through the doorway, Neji brushes long hair from his face, ever-stoic countenance quirking faintly in the ghost of a smile as olfactory senses catch the faintest whiff of that smell that has become so synonymous with home. It is a simple scent, not too strong, not too weak. Faint, yet strong and nearly overpowering in it's sweetness. Not the saccharine and sugary sweetness of other things, overbearing and forceful. This scent merely permeates, reaching gentle fingers into all the facets of his world and colouring it a warm sunlit hue.

The colour that she brought to his world, once he was able to humble his pride enough to see it. And though he's smelled that same scent, that same perfume, on so many different occasions, it never seems to carry the same weight, the same sweetness and depth as it does when it's clinging to her. The faint scent of gardenias takes on an entirely new level, curling around her and gaining it's own flavour, it's own traits.

Footsteps carry him down the hall, following that hint of fragrance that is somehow and inexplicably nearly intoxicating in it's strength. He knows she's here, not that she'd be anywhere else. But beyond that, he can sense it. The same way he knows she knows he's home. Reaching the door, fingers calloused from years of throwing kunai curl themselves against the wood as the tall Hyuuga stands as though enthralled, myriad of emotions playing across his face, faintest of smiles curving lips that – though unused to the gesture – seem to have found it within them to bend in spite of their determination to remain level.

He watches her, leaning over the crib with soft voice and even softer hands as she carefully tucks the woven blanket around the small body that sleeps soundly beneath the twinkling lights of the mobile carefully strung overhead. It only takes a moment before he is moving, soft light footsteps carrying him across the room to stand behind her, arms reaching around her to rest on the wooden railing, staring down for a moment at the sleeping face of his infant son before he presses lips gently against the side of her face, inhaling that ever-present scent of gardenias. The scent of home.

"I'm home…"


	3. Letter to the Lost

Letter to the Lost

Naruto/NejiHina

Disclaimer: Naruto / mine

Theme: If I could only make you mine

If I could only make you mine. I've thought about it, you know. Pictured it, envisioned a world where you and I walk side by side, the way we do now. Yet things are different, somehow, in a sort of intangible way that I don't even know how to describe with words. I'm not really good with words, you know. At least, not with my voice. It's always been small, weak. Shy and timid the way my body is as well. Even around you, especially around you.

Because you're so strong, so much braver and stronger and more courageous then I'll ever hope to be. But then, that's part of why I admire you so much. It's… why I love you so much. You're strong, wise, brave. All of those things that I've never been, that everyone expects of me and berates me for never finding. I wish I could find them, though. You're my inspiration, you know that? Sure, you'd probably scoff and tell me to stop being stupid, that you know perfectly well that he's the one I admire, the one I watch and pine for. But you don't know how much longer I've watched you.

Do you remember? When we were little, when things were so different between us. Before the hurt, and the bitterness, and the anger. Before the hardness crept up into your eyes and hid the kindness and softness that once dwelt there. If anyone tried to ask you, tried to find it, you'd probably deny it was ever there. But I remember. I remember the little boy who smiled at me, who held my hand and chased away the monsters in our make-believe worlds. And I remember how much I missed that smile when it faded behind the anger and the hate.

I wonder sometimes, if you would still hate me if you knew how I felt. If you knew how I watch your steps, how I gaze at your back as you walk away down that path to your next mission. If you understood the way I sit and watch the window every time you leave, wondering if this time you won't come back alive. It's shameful, I know. For a kunoichi and a Hyuuga at that, to allow herself to get so emotional over what is only a fact of life, that we may all die any day. But I can't help it. Not where you're concerned.

I sit up at night and wait and wonder, hoping and praying that morning won't bring news that I dread. Do you ever think of me? Ever wonder where I am and what I'm doing the way that I do you? Probably not, you aren't really that sort of person, and I think all of our friends would be shocked if they even knew you once used to smile.

I'm still watching you now, even as I write this letter. Watching you waiting by the corner, waiting for your teammates, off on another mission. Writing this letter that I know I'll never send you, never let you see. Because even as much as I wish that you could be mine, that I could one day know what it's like to feel your arms around me, your lips touching mine, to see that smile again with such warmth and feeling… I'm not brave like you. In truth, I'm a coward. A coward who can only write her feelings here, on blank paper that will see no warmth other than that of the pages of the book I'll hide it in.

It's silly to hope, after all. Because as much as I would wish it, as much as I hope and pray for the world to make you mine… I stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.


	4. A Perfect 10

A Perfect 10

Pairing: One-sided NejiHina, NejiTen

Fandom: Naruto

Rating/Warnings: G. Nothing objectionable.

Theme: #10 - #10

If she had asked someone, they would have likely told her it was a rather irrational thing for someone to direct dislike or hatred towards something so simple and insignificant as a number. That feeling animosity towards a few simple strokes of pen onto paper was rather an abnormal thing. But then, she hadn't asked them, had she? Not that it mattered. Abnormal or not, irrational or not, Hyuuga Hinata hated the number 10.

If anyone asked, she'd smile and laugh and make up some inane story about her reasoning. That the number 10 just wasn't pretty, or that something unpleasant had happened to her in her tenth year of life, or that she had just never liked it that much. Laughing it off and brushing it aside and covering up the real reasons why she bore such distaste towards two slash-marks of her calligraphy brush.

Ten was…the number of perfection. Perfect 10, perfect score. Something she could never achieve, no matter how hard she tried. Perfection wasn't for her, it was a star that rested far beyond her reach and even farther beyond the limits of her own paltry skills or her own average intellect. She wasn't a genius, wasn't smart like Shikamaru or driven like Naruto. For her, the best she could ever hope for was 7 out of 10. 70, an average level.

Ten was also the number of repetitions her father had always insisted on during those rare moments when he'd deigned to train his failure of an eldest daughter. It didn't matter that ten was also the number of repetitions he required from Neji when he trained the other in similar stances and maneuvers. Which Neji, it didn't stop at 10. It could be 10 times 10, and her genius cousin would execute them flawlessly, a thing Hinata could never seem to manage. It was one of the things she loved about him, after all, when she snuck away from her own duties to watch him train.

That number was also her younger sister's age. The younger sister who had never cared for Hinata, who had never confided in her elder and never seen the other Hyuuga daughter as anything but an eyesore and an embarrassment. And even though she would have denied it had anyone asked, the hurt and resentment festered nonetheless. Despite the fact that it wasn't her sister's fault she had been born into such a twisted and ruthless family dynamic.

But there was another thing that went with the number ten that Hinata hated even more. Her name. That two-syllable name that fell so easily from Neji's lips these days, the name of his teammate. Ten-ten. Not just one ten, but two. Two advents of perfection rolled into one, making them the only thing in Neji's eyes, the only thing he seemed to see. Not that the other girl didn't likely deserve the moniker. After all, she was everything Hinata wasn't. Strong, confident, assertive. A model kunoichi, rather then a failure like the indigo-haired Hyuuga. No wonder Neji looked at her the way he did.

Ten-ten was perfect, after all. She must have been perfect, at least, for Neji to follow her around the way he did lately. For him to bring home those ten perfect white roses she'd seen him carrying. And even though Hyuuga Hinata was not one to hold grudges or feel jealousy or bitterness, those were the only things she could feel as she watched Ten-ten's embarrassed blush as Neji took one of the flowers and brushed the soft petals against her lips in a mimicry of the kiss he would lean in to claim a moment later.

And maybe that was why her moderate dislike for the number 10 had developed into such a hatred. Because 10 was the number of perfection. And the one that she watched, the one who she deemed worthy of such a number, had already found his partner in perfection. A partner who wasn't her.


	5. Overflow

Overflow

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: NejiHina

Rating: PG

Summary: Sometimes in life, it's the most unexpected twists that give us the things most dear.

He'd never really wanted this. "This" being the marriage his family had arranged between himself and the timid, quiet girl he'd watched -- first with adoration, then anger and resentment, then calm acceptance -- grow up beside him. Well, perhaps "beside" was a bit of an overstatement, given the circumstances. Born to twin fathers, by all rights they should have traveled parallel paths through life. But that would have been the situation, had they belonged to any other family.

Only... they didn't. They belonged to the Hyuuga, one of the oldest, and most traditional clans of Konohagakure.

Tradition. Neji was of a different mind on that, he considered it more a case of the clan being so steeped and stagnated by it's own "traditions" and practices, so mired down in the dregs of what had become "normal: to them, that they couldn't even see the way their stranglehold over their own bloodline and keikei genkai was corroding the roots of that very bloodline. But then, he had never been one of the privileged few, that small percentage of those born with the emotionless white eyes of the Hyuuga who had the opportunity to go through life unmarred, their futures unrestricted by harsh green lines drawn in jutsu across their foreheads. Those who did _not_ live their lives in perpetual fear of the day when they, like so many before them, would be led as lambs to the slaughter in order to preserve the life of someone who lorded over them solely by an accident of birth.

Perhaps that was one of the main reasons why Neji had never appreciated his cousin. Hinata was, for lack of a better word, an abject failure as a shinobi. Weak, kind-hearted, not at all the sort of swift, calculating, measured and confident person that the Hyuuga _needed_ as their head. She was an enigma, the proverbial dove roosting amidst the carnage that was their world. And…. he'd never really understood that, at least not until much later, when he'd seen how the balm of her soothing presence, along with her caring and willing nature served as a potent poultice to knit a ruined clan back together.

It was the first time he'd watched her, small and shaking, biting her lower lip beneath her father's disapproving stare, pale eyes downcast towards her fisted hands, that he'd found himself shocked to see her take a deep breath and mutter something to herself before her trembling ceased and she raised her head in an almost defiant manner, staring Hiashi straight in the eye for a moment before addressing the rest of the council. It was her first time addressing them as their recognized head, and it was obvious from their reaction that Hyuuga Neji was not the only one shocked at the meek kunoichi's sudden display of strength.

And he'd seen it ever since, gradually becoming easier for her to express, as she carefully bent and wove the reeds of the Hyuuga together, meshing them back into the fabric that they perhaps always should have been. It honestly hadn't been that much of a surprise when Hiashi had told him that he would be the one chosen as Hinata's husband. In reality, it was only convenience and the simple fact that she, as the head of the clan, and he; the one who had inherited the strongest of the bloodline in their generation, would produce an heir worthy of surpassing them all. And that was the reason why he'd not sought to protest or contest the decision. It wasn't his place, certainly, and it was the logical decision. His fate, in an ironic way.

So he'd gone along with it, through the awkwardness of explaining to friends and teammates who couldn't understand that this was how it was done in a noble clan -- surprisingly, Chouji and Shikamaru had been the most understanding, but then the Akimichi were nobles as well, though less steeped in tradition and Shikamaru was Chouji's best friend -- and through the surprisingly difficult task of watching Hinata resign herself that a life with her beloved yet oblivious Naruto was not to be. She took it very well, he had to admit, and Neji couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't always known that circumstances would never have allowed her childish dream to take flight.

Their marriage had been a ceremony, in truth that was all it had been as he'd sat stony-faced through vows and speeches, nodding when prompted to, and speaking the correct words when it came time. A formality, simple and true, and one that he approached with the same calculated manner in which he approached all his missions. He didn't love her, she didn't love him, and both of them knew it. Theirs was not meant to be a marriage of love.

All of this was simple fact to Neji, just as the details to his latest mission were simple fact. Clean, sterile, devoid of feeling. What _wasn't _simple fact was the indescribable sinking feeling that settled deep in the pit of his stomach as he listened -- silently and without emotion -- to the words the young medic at the hospital told him. Those words that heralded bad news and worry. He'd expected it, at least in some portion of himself. Hyuuga women weren't known for their hardiness in childbirth; that was precisely the reason why not only he, but also Hinata and Hanabi had grown up without a mother in their lives. What he hadn't expected was the way the news struck him, biting as deeply into him as the kunai that occasionally managed to get past his defenses as he led his ANBU team on their dangerous S-ranked missions.

Hyuuga Neji, who had never before been afraid of anything, was terrified. Utterly petrified at the possibility of losing something that he'd never realized was such a huge central point of his life. And.… she _was_. He didn't even know how, or why, or when it had happened. But somewhere between their sham -- as he'd seen it -- of a marriage, and the life they'd shakily built together of convenience and formality, the unexpected had happened. Where he'd thought nothing could ever grow, love had bloomed. Or... something like love, at least.

Whether the feeling was the sort of love Ino or Sakura waxed on about, or the sort of thing Shikamaru grumbled off as troublesome wasn't really important, at least not to Neji as he made his way down the hallway to where they were waiting for him, silently begging whatever gods he could think of that everything work out, that the dark foreboding clouds be swept away by this new revelation. It was cliché, certainly, but he wasn't too proud to admit -- at least to himself -- that he didn't want to lose her, not now. Not when he'd just realized what a gift he'd been given when her father had betrothed them.

And for once -- he might have said the third time -- fate did not choose to follow it's typical sway. At least, not in Neji's eyes as he knelt at the head of the bed and squeezed a pale hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her damp forehead, and uncharacteristically tender look in his eyes as he smiled faintly down at the woman who'd managed to capture his heart without even trying. Neji felt as though he should have spoken, told her something, anything to convey the myriad of sudden emotions he was feeling, and yet the only thing he could manage was a shaky glance at the sleeping bundle in the incubator by the bed and blink back the tears that threatened to overflow before turning back to her and giving her hand another squeeze.

"We have a son..."


	6. Hopeless Longings

She had never been the sort to be noticed

She had never been the sort to be noticed. Not like the other girls in her class, or the other women she saw around Konoha. Indeed, even in her own clan, Hyuuga Hinata was a fairly unobtrusive person. Small, quiet, unassuming. A silent wallflower who stood against the wall and simply watched as those around her went on with their lives.

_Look at me..._

It was the life she led, the way things were and had always been. Nothing special, nothing overtly noticeable to make her stand out from the rest. She was mediocre, in all aspects of her life. As a shinobi, she constantly fell short, persistently failing to live up to the high standards set out by the noble elders of the Hyuuga clan. Her jutsu were average, her power and control lacking. In a word, she was weak.

_Don't ignore me..._

And even beyond her life as a shinobi, she seemed to constantly fall short. Where other girls were outgoing, friendly, unafraid of the world, she held back. Lacking confidence, bravery... all those things that a shinobi -- and a _Hyuuga_ -- should have. When she was a child, it had been acceptable, at least on some levels. After all, children took time to develop. And while those of the Hyuuga had been less forgiving of weakness, even in a child, the rest of the village had simply accepted.

_Can't you see me?_

But she was no longer that child. She was a woman now, a woman grown and a shinobi on top of that. There were things expected of her, things that she didn't know whether she'd be able to do. A shinobi's life wasn't one of timid looks and fearful trembling. It was a life of blood, a life of murder and missions and becoming a tool that could live or die at any time. There was little room for softness and tenderness. And that was what she'd tried to tell herself as she grew up. To remind herself that there were certain things, certain feelings... that shinobi simply didn't deserve.

Happiness, peace... love. All of those things were a luxury that so many of them would never gain. Especially in her case. Heir to a noble family, with so much weight placed upon her narrow, young shoulders, Hinata had never dared hope that she could grasp that which her classmates coveted and dreamed of. A life spent with one person, one special individual who would make you feel as though you were on the top of the world. Love.

She'd scoffed inwardly at that, a gesture that those who knew her would have thought strangely inappropriate for one such as her. One with such a gentle and caring nature, who didn't believe in love? Who watched with envy and hurt as those around her freely sampled it. And why shouldn't she? After all, love had been something which she would always be denied. While her friends could fall in love, walk around holding hands, or kiss beneath the mistletoe on Christmas, she would never know that. For her, would not be the slow yet sudden crash of feelings and awkward glances preluding moments of stifled passion and fumbling words. There would be politics and rules and a life lived not as a lover, not as a soul mate... but merely as a wife. Married in arrangement to someone fitting her father's wishes.

_Look over here... just once. And see me..._

Perhaps that was the reason why, when love had first cast it's eye on her and she'd felt her heart race at a wide smile beneath shaggy blond hair, she'd mistrusted it. Been too afraid, too hesitant and shy to dare and step forward to claim what she wanted. So instead, she'd spent years pining away in silence, coveting and keeping her love close to her, lest it be taken from her the way so many other dreams had been. And when it had faded, breaking away like old plaster on a wall, she had mourned it. Mourned it and learned from it. Sworn to herself that, should it ever chance upon her again, that this time she would be strong. This time she would stand up and claim it as her own.

But... promises made to oneself aren't so easily kept. And now, regardless of how much she wanted it, still she stood there, watching as the object of her affections trained, white eyes memorizing every movement, every turn and shift of muscle. Hoping. Hoping and praying that those white eyes so like her own would one day raise and rest themselves upon her. That one day he'd truly see her.


	7. Unbreakable

Title: Unbreakable  
Author/Artist: **tasogaretaichou**  
Pairing: Hyuuga Neji x Hyuuga Hinata  
Fandom: Naruto  
Theme: #16 - Invincible/unrivaled  
Disclaimer: Naruto / mine.

_They'd_ always considered him invincible. Those he fought beside, those he fought _with_. He was different from them, he always had been. And not simply in physicality or the blankness of his eyes or even the emerald marking of the juuin on his forehead. He was a genius, the rest of them... mere mortals. At least, that was how it had always come across to Neji. Not in the sense that he agreed with them, but simply in the way they treated him, the way they looked upon him. They admired him, feared him, _trusted_ him.

It was that trust that was the most galling, in part because those that _he_ trusted were so few and far between and in part because honestly... he didn't really know why. What they "trusted" was nothing more than a fashioning of their own mind, an idyllic fantasy they created of what they wished him to be. Perfect, unrivaled, unparalleled among any of them.

That they felt this way mattered little to Neji. Raised as a genius, treated from the time of his childhood as one who was born to surpass, born to succeed, it was only natural that he'd grown up believing in their words, believing in his own infallibility. And it had taken one head of blond hair to knock that smug arrogance out of him, to make him see it for the fantasy that it was.

And yet in spite of that, the word still clung to him as he aged. Invincible. Different, set apart and above those he walked beside, always with yet never the same. It was something he grew accustomed to, and learned to simply set it aside. After all, they didn't know any better. But he did.

Neji never thought of himself as invincible. In fact be he knew better, a fact that he truthfully held more dear than anyone may have suspected. Invincible meant isolated, infallible meant perfect. And perfection was little more than an illusion. He had seen himself falter, seen his strength fail him and seen the jaws of death snap shut mere inches from claiming his life on many occasions. His experiences were little different than those of any other shinobi of Konoha. But still in spite of that, the whispers prevailed.

_She_ thought of him as invincible. But not in the same way as the others. Her eyes looked on him not as a warrior, a tool, a comrade. They looked on him as a husband, a lover, a provider. They were the same eyes that watched him leave for his missions and welcomed him home with laughter, relief, and the faintest hint of silvery tears of relief as he kissed her gently in welcome.

Hinata never cried when he left, nor did she sob tears of relief upon his return, grateful that her fears were unfounded and he had indeed returned home to her. There were no fears to asauge, no reassurances to be offered. He would walk down that path, pause at the gate and turn to see her, standing proud and silent, her eyes never leaving his as they told him what he already knew. To her, he was invincible. In her eyes, there could be nothing stronger, nothing braver and truer than him.

And it was during those times, those momentary reprieves from life and struggles, looking down into her eyes so full of hope and trust and sincerity... that Neji truly _did_ feel invincible.


	8. Apple Dreams

March 14th. White Day. A day that many girls viewed with no small amount of trepidation. For numerous reasons, not the least of which being the worry over whether the chosen boy they'd gifted with chocolate the month before would return their gesture this month. Hyuuga Hinata was one of those girls, those young women who found herself fretful with worry over that day -- it was a Tuesday this year -- but in her case it wasn't even for the reasons that most would have thought.

Unlike the vast majority of young women and girls in Konoha, Hinata never took the time to make one gift more special than the others, to make it stand out with notice so that all -- especially the one she presented it to -- would know that _he_ was the most special, the most cherished. Indeed, in all of her 15 years, she had hardly thought of daring to do so. It had mostly been because of her shyness that she'd hesitated to make any one gift stand out, but also because she was just not the sort of person to elevate one above another, regardless of feelings that she may have held, kept deep within herself.

And so she had gone on throughout the years as usual, pale eyes watching the one she loved -- at the time it had been Naruto-kun -- and wondering for the umpteenth time whether perhaps this year she should have made something extra special, perhaps even given it to him in secrecy, so that he wouldn't have known it was her. But then, that defeated the entire purpose of Valentine's Day, she supposed. And so she'd always continued, making the same chocolate for everyone, sharing it with her teammates -- despite Shino's constantly calm mentions that he didn't need any -- as well as her teachers, her family, her friends. And after that, all that she could do was sit and wait for White Day with some small measure of dread, her one embarassing -- at least to her -- secret kept close within her mind. Not even because it was that shameful a secret, but just something that she didn't want them to know.

Hyuuga Hinata hated chocolate.

It wasn't a matter of allergies, or even a distaste for sweets that compelled it, but simply the fact that from the time she was a child, she'd never really enjoyed the too-sweet taste of the smooth confection. But it was a secret nonetheless, a secret not because she was ashamed to not like chocolate, but because to reveal it thusly would -- in her opinion -- bring sadness to those she cared about. To the friends and teammates that always reciprocated her kind-hearted gifts with chocolate offerings of their own, chocolate offerings she smiled at and thanked them for, and even ate as they watched, refusing to even show any sign that she didn't want them, that though she loved the thought and was so very touched by their gesture, the last thing she wanted to eat was chocolate.

It wasn't even that she disliked candy. In fact, there was one particular sort of candy that she loved, that she would always search for when out on an away mission, not because it was essential to the mission -- it wasn't, of course -- but because they didn't have them in Konoha, and she couldn't get them at home. No, the candy that she liked -- a smooth, rounded piece of hard candy exactly the shape and flavour of a miniature green apple -- wasn't even native to her home, but rather was found in Amegakure, a place where trade had recently become so shakey that they'd all but stopped even sending merchants into Konoha's territory.

She had first come across the candies when she was a little girl, before the machinations of the Hyuuga had changed everything. When she and Neji had been so close that they often slept in the same bed, her smaller form curled up against his, her own arms looped tight around the stuffed bear he'd thoughtfully given her one weekend. His father -- her uncle -- had given her and Neji each two, and when she'd greedily finished hers quickly and been disappointed there weren't any more, her cousin had given her the one he hadn't eaten. In fact, her stoic cousin was probably the only person who knew not only that she didn't like chocolate, but also knew how much she loved the apple candies.

But now those candies were few and far between, harder to find as trade dried up and festered like an untreated wound in the face of impending war. And so she ate chocolate, because that was what there was, and that was what people gave her, and it wouldn't do to seem ungrateful to them. Just as she would this White Day.

And it was just as she'd assumed it would be, the eager offerings of chocolates -- Kiba's formed somehow into the shape of Akamaru -- and her false yet not false smiles and the way she'd obligingly tried each of the gifts presented to her. The way she'd made sure to blush and act appropriately embarassed when Naruto gave her ramen instead, not so much because she had to act like that was a proper gift but because she no longer knew how she really felt about him and it was easier just to pretend things were the same. The only one who didn't give her anything in return was Neji, but she wasn't really surprised by that. He'd never been one to pay much heed to her annual chocolate gifts, and she really had no reason to expect him to start now.

No, what surprised her wasn't the lack of a gift from Neji, rather it was the presence of the small, white-wrapped and nondescript package sitting on the tatami floor in front of her bedroom door that was a source of startlement to the heiress. Kneeling down, she carefully studied the parcel. It was about 8 inches square, roughly the size of a moderately-sized bento, and wrapped up in pristine white paper. The card affixed to the top was without decoration or ornamentation, and the only writing on it was simply her name in simple pen strokes. Turning the package over in her hand, she searched for any sign of ownership, any hint that would give her some idea of who it was from. Finding none, she simply shrugged and slid open the door to her room, carrying the strange gift inside.

Sitting down on her futon, she folded her legs beneath her and set the box in front of her. It looked harmless enough, and she certainly didn't get any sort of threatening senses from it. Reaching out, she fingered the fine white cord holding the paper closed and gave it an experimental tug. At the release of tension, the white paper fell away to reveal a box of the same pristine whiteness, with a small gold stamp in the center of it. The stamp wasn't anything that she recognized, not a notable merchant's seal or anything. Just the simple gold outline of a bird in flight. A swallow, she thought it looked like.

Gripping the sides of the box with slim fingers, she carefully lifted the lid, dropping it to the side with a little gasp at it's revealed contents. There, amidst a little flourish of gold tissue paper, sat twelve perfect green spheres, their smooth glistening surfaces tinged with just the faintest powdering of sugar, each one secure it it's own pleated white cup. Picking one up with shaking fingers, she turned it over in her hand, scarcely able to believe they were real. Licking her lips involuntarily, she brought the candy to her mouth, pressing lips against it and enjoying the tart kiss of flavour that burst across her taste buds. Slipping the apple candy into her mouth, she sucked on it thoughtfully, eyes closed in bliss for a moment before picking up the lid and studying it, fingers running over the gold embossing. A faint smile curved her lips as she traced the painted wings, eyes softening a bit.

_Arigatou... Neji-niisan..._


	9. Lullaby

Title: Lullaby  
Pairing: Hyuuga Neji x Hyuuga Hinata  
Fandom: Naruto  
Theme: #22 cradle  
Disclaimer: Naruto and it's characters do not belong to me. I just borrow them for my own twisted purposes.  
Notes: Ok, I didn't like this one at first, but as I got into it, I really enjoyed it. Hopefully I captured the emotions of the moment right, as it's not a moment that I've ever gotten to experience yet.

Some things in life, as far as he'd always been told, were certain. Straightforward, understood, and in many ways just _were_. It wasn't even something so simple as a matter of preference, personal or otherwise. It was just a simple fact of life. Very much the way the sky was blue and wounds bled and snow was cold.

Hyuuga Neji believed in that certainty, believed in it as he believed in the strength of his team, the depth of his dedication to Konoha. The certainty of everything in his life at this point had been his anchor, had served as a centerpoint for so many of the decisions he made, so many paths trodden and choices made and abandoned.

Everything changed, but even then, everything followed a set pattern. The way he fought, the way he lived, even the way that he felt. All were things he understood, things he could predict. Things that he could count on to remain stable. Unchanging.

At least.... that was the way he'd always seen the world.

Looking upon life through white eyes made expressionless by the binds of genetics, and _kept_ expressionless by the binds he placed upon himself. By the hardships of life and the utter refusal to surrender any portion of himself to the unknown, because a surrender such as that would mean an acceptance of those things in life that he cannot control, that he cannot place into the neat and ordered boxes in which he prefers to keep things. The order makes sense, it's comforting in a way.

But that comfort is hard to find anymore. Now, there is a new fear. A new worry. One that, had anyone told him he'd one day carry, the boy he once was would have laughed out loud at the idiocy of the statement. But the man he is today is not laughing now.

Holding his breath at a sudden shifting of the soft blanket beneath his gaze, he freezes, waiting as the tiny body shifts, infant fist stretching slightly before the baby gives a soft murmer and sleep once again descends upon her. A moment's patience, to make certain that sleep is genuine, that the danger of another four hours of fretful crying are not poised to erupt, and Neji relaxes again, his eyes once again finding the face of his newborn daughter as he shakes his head slightly.

It's a wonder, in so many ways. Not only in her mere presence -- though he will admit, to himself at least, and to Hinata at times -- that there are moments when he feels unable to breathe, unable to even conceive of the fact that this tiny, helpless being has been entrusted to them by God. He wonders about the world he's brought a child into. About whether they can raise her into a good shinobi, and even beyond that, a good _person_, in the sort of bloodstained and divided world they live in.

He wonders if he is up to it. Not because the logistics of it are that difficult to comprehend. He wonders because, for perhaps the first time in his life, Hyuuga Neji finds himself terrified. Utterly paralyzed with the fear that somehow, someway, he will do something that he has spent his life proving doesn't happen. That he will _fail_, and fail at something that carries an importance which somehow manages to encompass and eclipse everything else, something that suddenly means so much _more_ than anything else, any other decision he has ever faced and right now he feels as though no other decision he _will_ face could ever measure up to this one.

It feels weak, but he can't help the way his hand shakes slightly as he lifts it ever so slowly from the edge of the railing, the cradle's gentle rocking easing to a stop as he reaches down and, with fingers more gentle than he ever would have believed they could be, smoothes back the thatch of dark indigo hair at the crown of his daughter's sleeping head, the back of a single finger resting against the baby's cheek for just an instant.

How can he do it? How can he protect something so small, so helpless? Will he be able to? Will he ever be able to fill the role he never realized would feel so daunting. Neji is not an emotional man, and as such, he makes no pretenses at being warm, caring, tender. Whether he feels those things or not, the fact remains that there is a rift between feeling and acting. Will she understand? Will she be able to see how much he, how much _they_ cherish her? How they would give their lives for her in an instant? How their love will never diminish?

He hopes he can. And he hopes she will.

Straightening up, he turns to glance over his shoulder at the faint impact of feet against the tatami floor behind him, his blank eyes somehow managing to soften slightly at the sight of his wife, the side of her leaning against the edge of the doorway, dark head resting against the doorframe, dim light from beyond framing her petite sillhouette and shining off the curtain of dark hair hanging down her back. She smiles at him softly, standing there for a moment before pushing away from the doorframe and stepping quietly over beside him. Without even a word, she sidles up beside him, easily fitting herself into the hollow of his arm, her head coming to rest on his shoulder and her eyes joining his as she sighs softly.

"I hope she grows up strong. Like you."

And as he swallows a sudden lump in his throat and turns to press a soft kiss to her forehead, only one thought stands out in his mind.

_So do I..._


	10. Waiting for Tomorrow

Title: Waiting for Tomorrow  
Pairing: Hyuuga Neji x Hyuuga Hinata  
Fandom: Naruto  
Theme: #25 fence  
Disclaimer: Naruto and it's characters do not belong to me. I just borrow them for my own twisted purposes.

Every morning, for the last two and a half weeks, she's gotten up early. Slipping her feet into the familiar black sandals, she brushes her long hair back from her face and makes her way down that old, worn path. Sometimes she stops along the way, greets old friends and faces from her childhood, other times she simply walks with her attention elsewhere, drawn upward and outwards as though focused on a melody that no one else hears. She walks the path at sunrise, and again at sunset, to stand in her silent vigil again each night.

When it rains, a simple red umbrella shields dark hair and pale face from the heavens' torrential downpours, the soles of her shoes squelching in the thick mud of the pathway and yet she still makes the journey every day. As the autumn turns to winter, and the coloured leaves begin to give way to cold breezes heralding the coming snows, she simply adds a woolen shawl to her shoulders, the edges drawn tight against the chill.

Her path takes her along the edge of the village, through the older districts and past familiar landmarks and structures. So much of it is different now, changed forever in Akatsuki's attack, the older lines and edges weather in some places and contrasting with the sharpness of the broken pieces of that old life. Not that her current life is so much different. It's not, at least not in the way that anyone might have assumed.

Missions, clan, friends... most all of them stay the same, day after day.

Most... but not all. Her path ends soon, ends at the remains of an old worn fence that once marked the edge of Konoha's boundaries long before the village became what it is today. Long before she was born, long before her father was born, the women of the village, those left behind as their loved ones left on dangerous missions, would stand beside the fence. Stand and wait, hopeful and attentive, anxiously awaiting the return of a smile, a whisper, a kiss.

She is not a wife. Not a mother. And yet, each morning she waits. Waits until time and duty force her away, until her own missions must take her attention from that old path winding through the woods and another day's vigil ends and the cycle begins anew. They've told her that it's useless, that there is no hope. That the one she waits for, the one with eyes like hers and a cold reserved stare will never walk down that path again. The mission failed, the team lost. No survivors. Yet in spite of that, she still waits. She waits because she believes, and because somewhere within herself, she knows she's right. That as long as she waits, as long as she keeps faith and stands by the fence, she'll be rewarded one day. Rewarded with the sight of a tired figure in scuffed white armour making his way back up that dusty and overgrown path. That she'll see those tired white eyes lift, see his gaze find her, and then... everything will be alright again.


	11. Silken Flowers

Title: Silken Flowers  
Pairing: Hyuuga Neji x Hyuuga Hinata  
Fandom: Naruto  
Theme: #19 - Red  
Disclaimer: Naruto is not mine

Passing by the shop window again, her footsteps slowed to a stop, the soft sway of her arms ceasing as the girl halted in front of the flat pane of glass. Taking a step closer, she shifted her parcels to one hand, the bagged groceries swinging slightly with her movements. Raising her other hand, she pressed it flat against the glass as her lips turned up slightly in a whistful smile.

It was still there. 'It' being the kimono she had seen in the shop's window two weeks ago when she'd been returning from her mission. That particular store restocked it's wares once monthly, and despite the fact that she'd never been what one might call 'girly', not like Ino or Sakura or any of the other kunoichi in the village who -- when they weren't on missions -- spent spare time indulging their feminine sides with new clothes or makeup or other sorts of frivolity, she still liked to look. Hinata wasn't like that, and not because she thought such things silly. She had simply never been free the way they had. Never been truly able to simply relax and feel comfortable with herself in the way that most carefree teen girls did. But even in spite of that, she had an eye for nice things.

That particular shop happened to be near enough to the path she tended to take from the village gate that it wasn't too much out of the way to stop by there on that particular day each month. She would stop by the window and watch as the new stock was unloaded and carefully opened and inspected before each item was lovingly folded and set on the shelf or on display, for whichever lucky woman patron would purchase them. And two weeks ago, on her normal stop by the store to watch, she'd stood there in shock as that particular item was placed on the mannequin in the window.

It was, to put it lightly, breathtaking.

Even without feeling the soft material draped over the wood of the dressform, her experienced eye could discern the quality of the silk, the fine stitching -- by hand, no doubt -- that marked this particular kimono as a cut above the rest. But beyond the quality of the fabric or the fine neatness of the stitching, it was the colour that struck her. A deep, brilliant scarlet shade of red, scattered with small blossoms in shades of rose pink and smooth ivory, the black and ivory patterned obi only serving to accent the already startling radiance of the kimono's colour. It stood out among the other pink and lavender and blue shades the way the moon stands out among the stars.

She had never seen a kimono that colour, despite all the different red yukata and kimono that she saw with regularity every festival. Never on her, however. As beautiful as it was, there was one fact that she had come to grips with long ago. And that was the fact that red was not her colour, and never would be.

That fact was something she knew, and had known since she was a child. Red was a colour for other people. Red was for Ino, who's pale flaxen looks would only serve to emphasize the deep richness of the colours. Or for Sakura, whose ivory skin would match so well with the sakura petals scattered across the sleeves of the kimono and whose hair would be beautifully offset by the black and cream of the obi. Or even for her sensei. For Kurenai-sensei, whose deep crimson eyes and black hair would make her look like some sort of scarlet goddess in something the same shades.

But red wasn't for her. With her alabaster skin, opalescent eyes and deep indigo hair, her very nature contrasted that of the kimono. Red was fire, it was passion, it was courage. All of the things that she herself did not possess. Where others were fierceness, she was gentleness. She was water, and calm, and quiet. Even others noticed it, though their remarks were never thusly framed.

_"Hinata-chan, you always look so lovely in blues...... Oh, aren't you so lucky that your complexion suits such pastels? You'll make everyone else envious....... You're lucky that you don't have to wear such bold colours. They'd just wash you out."_

Sighing, she shook her head slightly. It was the same as always. Even if she'd been in possession of the money, the funds to purchase such a lovely thing, it would be ill suited to her. Better to let someone else enjoy it, even though she couldn't deny that she would be sad to see the lovely kimono vanish from the window. Shifting her bags back into her hands, Hinata turned and continued on her way, as she had done every day since she'd seen it in the window.

As her slim form vanished down the street, another pair of eyes watched her go before turning to the red kimono for a moment before the figure turned and stepped into the store, reappearing a few moments later, a wrapped package held under one arm.

It wasn't until several days later, upon return from her latest mission, that Hinata had the chance to stop by the shop again on her way home. Her team's mission to Iwagakure had been routine, and rather simple, and beyond that it had given her the chance to do some thinking. Or rather... it had given Ino the chance to do some thinking _for_ her. The Hyuuga heiress wasn't used to being paired up with Shikamaru's team, and neither was she used to the other girl's much more free-spirited and energetic personality. In spite of that, she couldn't help but feel that it had done some good. They'd been shopping -- at Ino's request -- during the small amount of free time they'd had, and the blonde girl had been absolutely adament that there was no such thing as "someone who can't wear red", and indeed had even insisted -- practically demanded -- that the quieter girl purchase the lovely hairpin with the brilliant red enameled poppy on it, in spite of Hinata's nervous assertions that such a thing would look far nicer paired with Ino's cornsilk-hued mane of hair.

But insistent Ino had been, and her attitude had made a positive effect on the other girl, to the point that she'd finally made up her mind to put aside what she'd heard and allow herself the treat in the window. Her steps quickened as she caught sight of the shop's breen-patterned awning in the distance, a happy smile beginning to spread across her face. Only, that happy smile quickly faded away as she drew closer to the window. There was nothing there. No bright spot of scarlet amidst the blues and greens and pastels that normally lined the windows of the shop. Where the magnificent scarlet kimono had been, was now a simpler -- though she couldn't argue it was beautiful -- pale yellow kimono patterned with blue and violet irises, belted with a brilliant orange and green obi. The red kimono was gone.

White eyes fell with a saddened sigh. Of course it would have been too good to be true, now that she'd finally worked up her nerve to buy it. Beyond that, it was a miracle that the beautiful thing had remained unpurchased in the window for so long to begin with. Something that fine... it should have been gone long before. Besides, she mused as she headed home, it would look better on someone else.

_It will go to someone better, anyway. Someone who suits it more._

Setting her satchel down as she entered the Soke portion of the compound, she smiled a greeting at the servants and the few Bunke that bowed to her as she entered, though the smile was somewhat forced. It was silly, when one thought about it, silly to be so disappointed over something so trivial as a simple kimono, even if it had been an exceptionally lovely one. Reaching the door to her room, she slid the door open, her free hand tossing a stray lock of indigo-hued hair over her shoulder as she stepped through the doorway.

And stopped, a confused look crossing her face. There, sitting in the center of the small flat table in the middle of her room, was a simple wrapped package, roughly a foot and a half square. The paper was plain, brown and nondescript, tied with simple black twine. Dropping her sandals at the entrance to the room, Hinata padded over to the table, settling down onto her knees and reaching out to pick up the note sitting on top of the parcel. There was no message, simply her name, written in a script she recognized at once.

Smiling slightly, she cradled the card for a moment. It wasn't that unusual -- at least not anymore, not since her father had announced the intended betrothal -- for Neji to leave her presents, usually when she was returning from mission. They were always little trinkets, and she was relatively certain that it had little to do with actual feelings and more to do with the obligation of a fiance to procure gifts for their intended lady. But even then, it was a nice gesture, and it reminded her of the time when they were children, when he had been more open and honest with her. She saw that side now, even a little more since Hiashi's decree -- it was almost as though such a thing gave her cousin the freedom to slip back to the way he'd treated her before -- and it was whimsical thought on her part that let her entertain the notion at times that there was more to it then that, that the gifts were his way of communicating feelings she herself was too shy to admit she held.

Setting the folded card down, Hinata turned her attention again to the parcel on the table. It was soft and pliable, and had the feeling of folded cloth, which left her somewhat puzzled as to what the stoic Jounin could have possibly bought for her this time, but she simply shrugged and tugged loose the string to pull the paper aside. White eyes widened with a shocked gasp as the brown wrapping fell away to reveal scarlet silk, the kimono from the window carefully folded and lovingly packaged and nestled into it's brown paper, the obi tucked between it's folds. With shaking hands, she slid fingertips into the fabric, lifting it up to study up close what she'd only ever been able to peek at through the window.

"You seemed to like it."

Neji's calm voice from the doorway startled her, and she nearly dropped the silk back into the wrapping, her head snapping around to fix wide eyes on him where he stood watching her, an almost amused look on his face as he watched the flush creep up into her cheeks slightly. Unable to speak, she simply nodded before swallowing and finding her voice again.

"N...Neji-niisan, you..... you shouldn't have. It's... it's beautiful, but.... it's so expensive...."

Her stuttering reply was cut off by a simple gesture from Neji, a wave of his hand that easily communicated his wish that she cease her protesting and simply accept the gift. Running a hand through his hair in a rather un-Neji-like gesture, his white eyes shifted away for a moment, as though unable to look her in the face before he pushed off from the doorframe and turned his back to her. Taking a step out of the door, he stopped for another long moment.

"Red suits you, Hinata-sama."

And without another word, he headed back down the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floors. Dropping her eyes back to the puddle of crimson silk on the table, Hinata felt her cheeks warm even further as she gathered the kimono in her arms and hugged it to her chest, closing her eyes to bury her face in the soft coolness of the fabric, relishing the gentle kiss of silk against her skin. Maybe.... there _was_ something else there, afterall.


	12. Gilded Facade

Title: Gilded Facade  
Fandom: Naruto  
Pairing: NejixHinata  
Theme: #6 - The space between dream and reality  
Disclaimer: Naruto is not mine.

There is always a space between dreams and reality. A gulf of time and knowledge where what we see and feel stands on one side of the cavernous divide and stares in wonder at what we know cannot be real. Where the phantasms of the mind twirl together with the daydreams of youth and innocence into a magical cacophony of coloured lights and sounds and explosions of sensation and mysticism as they gaze across at the stark reality of that which is true.

She knows this, regardless of whether she wishes for it or not. After all, her world is divided by that space, defined so much by it. "Reality" is a debatable concept in the world she lives in, this world of blood and death and duty. For on the surface, it's simply a village. Happy people, laughing children running along the streets and playing ninja with carefree abandon. Men and women tending shops, watering window-box gardens and greeting each other with warm smiles and waves. That is the reality, but it's also the dream. The candy-coloured facade draped over the dark underneath of truth.

The truth that, while it is a home, and a town, and a peaceful place, Konohagakure is also a shinobi village. The reality that, beneath the smiles and the laughter, lies a history written in blood and war and strife. That for every man or woman who makes their livelihood on the surface, in the open, there are three more who live lives mostly in the shadows. Familiar faces, walking along the streets in their distinctive flak jackets and vests, Konoha's red spiral patch blazing evidence from their backs. They are as much a part of the village's fabric as those they come home to, yet they inhabit the truer world, the darker world. The portion that remains unseen beneath much of the facade.

The divergence of reality and dream reaches deeper still, past the fringes of the environs surrounding her. Fantasy is a world in which she is strong. A dream where she stands tall and proud amidst her forefathers and her clansmen, leading them with the determination and strength of will that they expect from her. An imagined time when she can look her father in the eye and tell him her thoughts, her feelings, her hopes and dreams and be regarded as an equal.

Reality is her weakness. Her fears and insecurities, the fumbling way she makes her way through life with their eyes on her back, their disapproving glares and whispers echoing through her mind as she lowers her head in shame at how far below their expectations she consistently falls. The timid way she stumbles over her own words when she so much as tries to broach an idea to her teammates, people who support and befriend her. Her inability to even look her father in the eye, lest his disapproval weigh even heavier on her shoulders. It is the fear that she will never succeed, that she will forever be left to a life of disappointment and failure in the eyes of the people she is to one day lead.

It is in a dream long-since abandoned where she shares a life with Uzumaki Naruto. A playful and whimsical girlhood fantasy where she lives in a house with a white picket fence and cooks dinner for a hoarde of laughing children with sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair. Where the man she once had dreams of comes striding through the door to hang the red and white patterned hat on a hook and swings a laughing little boy onto his shoulders before stepping over to sample the soup she's cooking before she playfully swats him with the spoon and the entire scene warms with the glow of happy laughter.

But that fantasy is just that. Fantasy. The man who would be Hokage -- who _will_ be Hokage -- holds no feelings of such regard for her, only the tender care of a dear friend. And now, looking back, she knows the truth of things. That her first love, while strong, is simply that. Her first love. There will be others, stronger and more enduring even then the one that came before. The reality is that those blue eyes shine for another's smile, another's warmth.

Her reality is one of secrets. One of hidden feelings and furtive glances towards the one who now holds her heart, the one who perhaps has held it all along. The reality is not a world where she may say what she pleases, and love whom she loves without repercussion. Instead, it is a cage, a cage of rules and lines and understandings. The understanding that their love is forbidden, misunderstood, denied. That feelings and emotions must lie beneath a seamless mask of composure and dignity, hidden and shadowed.

It is within the realms of the dreamworld where she stands on a sunlit porch, watching as a tall, dark-haired figure makes his way across the yard to greet her. Where she smiles serenely up at him as he takes her hand and raises it to his lips silently before releasing it to cup her face in his palms and press an equally tender kiss to her mouth. Where they sit together on the veranda, her head against his shoulder as they simply watch the fading day turn to dusk and count the stars as they appear.

In her dream world, there is no Hyuuga clan, no rules and restrictions. No juuin, no bunke or soke. In that magical place, there is only Neji. Only Hinata. Only the two of them, happy and together and safe from the cares of the world. It is a place where the harshness of reality cannot touch. But it is only a mirage. Only a fantasy, and there is a distance between it and the world outside of her daydreams.

In that reality, there is no sunlit porch. No tender kisses and twilight stargazing. There are only furtive whispers and heated gazes. Gentle touches are exchanged for quick, accidental brushings of hand against hand as they pass in the hallway. There are no soft, lingering moments spent in each other's arms, but rather the time they do have is stolen away in the dead of night or in heated moments where time is of the essence and tenderness is lost amidst desire and the need for secrecy and speed as he presses her against the wall with strong hands and mouth, her answering back with equal ferocity, her moans echoing his in the night darkness of the hallways.

There is a gulf between dream and reality, a gulf between the feverish kisses shared in secret, the silenced moans and hushed whispers and the idyllic dream of a happy and normal life. A life lived in the open, shared with their friends and loved ones. It is a gulf of secrecy, a gulf of protection -- theirs, from the world and from the repercussions -- and a gulf of tradition. Bunke. Soke. One superiour, one inferiour. One subservient to the other, that other never deigning to soil themselves by association. It is the division of the Hyuuga clan, the division that defines their lives.

It is the divide that she hopes to one day bridge.


	13. Silent Vigil

Title: Silent Vigil  
Fandom: Naruto  
Character/Pairing: NejiHina, onesided in this one.  
Rating: PG  
Theme: Violence, pillage/plunder.

The room is silent but for two things. The soft, even breathing of the still form lying so pale, so white amidst the white linens of the hospital bed and the harsh sound of the steady, even tone as the machines monitor that same breathing, seeing that it continues uninterrupted. The whiteness of the room itself seems to bleed the colour out of everything else, turning the entirety to the same blanched sterility. Her gown is white, her skin far too white, lacking the usual flush to her cheeks. The sheets are white, even the walls... white.

He thinks it ironic that her eyes, though closed, are also that same pale absence of colour. Like his own, though he is certain that the alabaster orbs beneath her thin lids would not glint with the barely-suppressed rage that his own shine with. He is as certain of that as he is that were she awake, her teeth would not be gritted in anger, her shoulders set by the tension that emotion brings. _She_ would not wish to be out wrecking vengeance on those that have put her here.

Hinata's hair is a splash of dark across her pillow, like a spill of night-blue ink falling down the stark white of the sheets to pool behind her head. It's darkness only serves to emphasize the pallor of her complexion, the absence of it's usual healthy rose-tint. It's like her spirit, in a way. Dark, deep, fluid in it's nature. A calm and limpid pool untouched by the ravages of the world in which they live. A sanctuary for any who she chooses to allow into it.

_And she would offer it to __**him**_

Her hand is tiny in his larger fingers as he cradles those slender pale fingers in his own, his warm grasp tighter than it should be, admonishing himself for the darkness of the bruises he fears he will leave on her porcelain skin. It is cold where his is warm, a stark contrast to the hearth-like ember of her heart, warm and inviting and carefully tended.

It is war that has put her here, war and yet he cannot bring himself to bear hatred for the one who has brought that violence upon her. He cannot turn his anger towards those who have attacked them, those who have plundered and wronged their village, who have reduced it to so much smoldering ashes around them. _They_ are the villains, and yet his hatred finds it's root closer to home.

His hair is dark against the whiteness of the room, dark as his mood while his equally white-clad form sits in the small chair and waits, his heart seeming to stop in his chest at each weak rise of her chest, breath held as that chest falls and he waits to count another rise, another breath. And another, counting each one as though he were counting pearls or diamonds, though either of those seem as worthless as common stones compared to the worth of each single breath she takes.

She doesn't know, of course, that it is he who sits here. He who holds her hand, who talks to her in short clipped sentences at intervals. Conversation has never been his strong suit, and not even the barest avoidance of tragedy can make it so, yet he speaks for her. He speaks of past, and present. He talks of memories engraved in childhood, of smiling faces and happy times long-since committed to so much dust, their truth remembered only in fantasy. He tells of the present, of her teammates and friends, of those who wait anxiously for her eyes to open. He talks of her family, of Hiashi and Hanabi, of those in the Bunke who value their family's gentle heir.

He pours out his heart to her, tells her things he swore never to voice, never to admit. He clings to her hand in moments of weakness, pressing lips against chill fingers, gritting his teeth against the anguish of seeing her lying there so still and then against the fury that suffuses him when he remembers why _he_ is the one sitting here in this chair. He speaks of the future, both lyrical and true. He lies to her, not because he wishes to, or even because he believes it, but because he hopes that perhaps if he fills her comatose head with fantasies, it will be enough to bring her back.

Neji tells her what he knows she wants to hear, though he cannot bring himself to pretend. He will not lie and pretend to be another. He tells her of the man she loves with his teeth gritted in rage, fighting to keep the bitterness from his lips as he spins tales of merit that turn his stomach, telling her of impending visits and gifts that he knows are nothing but spun-sugar dreams and wishes. Not because Naruto himself is a bad man. In fact, it is just the opposite, and they have the blond boy to thank for their combined survival and the safety of the village.

He detests the stories because in spite of everything, when his gentle cousin found her courage and stood up, looking a deadly foe in the eye, it was not for herself. Instead, it was to defend the man that she loves. To defend him and to finally, after years of shyness and failure, stand tall and tell him of her feelings only to fall by enemy hand in that same man's defense, her blood splattered on the ground at their feet, staining pale skin and indigo hair as the Akatsuki tosses her aside like so much trash.

Neji hates them because, in spite of her bravery and hard work, in spite of the sacrifice she has made and the courage that she has finally shown, regardless of the truth and purity in her feelings and the honesty of her convictions ... it is not _Naruto_ who sits by her bedside in silent vigil.


	14. One Last Request

Title: One Last Request  
Fandom: Naruto  
Character/Pairing: NejixHinata  
Rating: PG  
Prompt: #30 - Kiss  
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or it's characters. They belong to Kishimoto Masashi, I am merely borrowing them for a time.

The nondescript brown paper package sat in the center of his desk, it's presence mocking him with it's own anonymity. Standing beside his chair, Hyuuga Neji stared down at the small square-shaped parcel with well-concealed trepidation. Not because unmarked packages left on his desk were to be approached with caution -- they were, but given the circumstances he was relatively certain that _this_ particular package was harmless -- but more because he had a relatively concrete idea of the sort of package this one was.

Pulling out the chair, Konohagakure's ANBU commander dropped his lanky form into the cushioned leather with a sigh, one arm reaching out to snag one of the loops of the simple red twine that tied the package closed. He dragged the small box over in front of him, shaking his head faintly.

He already knew who it was from -- or at least he had a good idea -- and that was the entire reason why _this_ particular package didn't find itself relegated to the festive-coloured pile in the back corner of his office closet, yet another offering to the dark cold. One finger idly traced over the simple bow, the neat folding of paper around the small square box. Glancing out the window, white eyes met an equally-blanched landscape, the familiar rooftops of Konoha dusted with a thick crusted layer of ice crystals.

The decorations were already going up -- hell, they'd _been_ up for nearly 2 weeks now -- and every time he ventured outdoors he found his senses assailed with the sound of music and bells and shouting as the denizens of Konoha did their holiday shopping. And that didnt' even figure in the crowds, the people on corners asking for charity, the bundles of irritating green leaves and white berries that he had to avoid.

_That_ was the real reason he tended to avoid the streets during Christmastime. Leaning back in his chair with a sigh, Neji folded arms behind his head and closed his eyes. He remembered the last time he'd ventured out at this time of year. Or at least... the last time he'd ventured out without any reason behind it. He'd been approached by no less than 8 women and 2 men, all of whom had attempted to maneuver him underneath one of those offensive bundles of mistletoe in an attempt to take advantage of a tradition he detested.

With a heavy sigh, he straightened up, picking up the package again, turning it over in his hands. There was no point in dragging it out, regardless of his feelings about the holidays, _this_ one was one that he was going to open. Pulling out a small letter opener, he carefully slid it under the edge of the paper, slicing the tape. Unwrapping the brown paper -- he shook his head slightly at the fact that someone who loved the season so much would choose such plain paper -- he popped the lid on the small white box, the faintest ghost of a smile gracing his features as he picked up the small square of white chocolate.

He'd been right, the gift _had_ come from her. She was probably the only one who knew of his preference for white chocolate -- for _peppermint bark_, as this proved to be -- over the normal confections of the holidays. She was the only one he openly ate the treat around, feeling instead that while it was perfectly acceptable for him to much on sugary sweet things when they were alone, him leaning his head back against her chest while she shyly looped arms around his shoulders, he considered it another thing entirely for the ANBU divisions under him to know that their commanding officer had a sweet-tooth.

Frowning slightly, he set the chocolate down, picking up the small folded piece of red paper that it had been resting on. Unwrinkling the stiff square, he let pearlescent eyes roam over the neat, curving script. It was an address, followed by a time. Confused, Neji turned the paper over, looking for some explanation. It obviously meant something, Hinata didn't do things without meaning, even if the meaning was one that only _she_ understood. Glancing up at the clock, he mentally noted the nearness of the time she'd written down.

Well, there was nothing for it, really. Their relationship aside, she was Soke, he Bunke, and though he knew she'd never demand it, never order him to anything, the obedience was ingrained within him despite his distaste for it. Standing up, he snagged the heavy black wool coat off of the peg, shoving arms through it and buttoning up the front before heading out the door, dropping the small package into his desk drawer before he left.

Walking down the street, he kept his face downcast, doing his best not to make eye contact with any of the ones he passed. It didn't work very well, and he found himself with little choice but to grumble and keep his eyes upraised, if only to avoid an inevitable collision. Pulling out the small red card, he paused on a corner to study the address again, backing out of the way as someone came barreling past. The address was only a few blocks away, and another glance at the nearest clock showed he'd walked faster than expected. Oh well, now he had a good 20 minutes to occupy himself with.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, the lanky man made his way to the appropriate corner and took up a position leaning against the lightpost. Thankfully the snowfall had slowed, and instead of a driving torrent of white, the flakes had softened into a gentle falling spectacle. It was, he had to admit, rather lovely to look at. Standing there, he shrugged his shoulders slightly before training his eyes on the parade of passersby.

If there was one thing that could be said for Christmastime, it was that the season seemed to bring people together. Families walked down the street, the children laughing and pointing at the brightly-lit window displays, begging for indulgences as their parents laughed. Friends darted after one another, joking and teasing, throwing snowballs before ducking into one store or another. Pairs and groups of people walked, stopping at some point as one would pull out a wrapped bag or parcel and shove it into anothers hands with a flourish and a laugh.

And then, there were the couples. Walking hand-in-hand, whispering things into each others' ears, stopping at corners to embrace and share a kiss under the mistletoe. He felt his frown deepening as he watched his teammate pull out a -- predictably -- green box and present it to Haruno Sakura with a flourish, only to be greeted with an enthusiastic kiss. Turning away, his eyes instead found a blushing Akimichi Chouji shyly holding out a parcel to Yamanaka Ino. Growling slightly, Neji cast his gaze around, finally settling on the lone figure of Uzumaki Naruto, conspicuous orange pants making him easy to spot as the blond wandered along the street, pausing every so often to stare in a window.

_Naruto_ would have understood, he supposed. Though the reasoning might not have been the same, at least the loudmouth shinobi knew what it was like to have to pretend. Knew what it felt like when you could only let yourself act on your feelings in private, where no one else could see. It wasn't common knowledge -- much like the relationship between himself and Hinata -- but the perceptive Hyuuga knew perfectly well who the younger man was thinking of when his eyes lingered on one thing or another in one of the shop windows.

It was the same with him. And her, though the penalties for such a thing would have been far harsher on his side. He wasn't _supposed_ to love her, she shouldn't have noticed. And now they were stuck, stuck in this limbo of a relationship, her asking shyly for things she shouldn't want, him unable -- and unwilling, if he was completely honest -- to deny her those simple things. His presence on her walks to the gate for her missions, holding her hand until the massive red-painted doors came into view. An hour, here and there, her head resting against his shoulder as they watched the dusk fall together. The simple pleasure of sitting on the porch behind him, his head resting against her torso as she combed gentle fingers through his long hair.

They weren't bad things that she wanted, nor were they difficult. No, the difficulty lay in the fact that he knew those things would escalate. That soon, she'd ask for more. And he'd be bound to give it to her. Hell, he'd WANT to give it to her, he _wanted_ it now. He wanted to have the freedom, the luxury of walking with her down the street, her arm through his the way Kiba was walking with a red-head he didn't recognize. To be able to stop in the middle of the street the way that a brunette man was doing at the other end of the block and just spin her around in the snow before pulling her close to kiss her. Just because. Not for any special reason, or to prove anything, but just... because she was _Hinata_.

He sensed her before he saw her, though he was sufficiently distracted by his own moodiness that it was a moment before the nervous crunching of boots in the show caught his attention. Turning, his gaze landed on her slight figure, dark hair and flushed cheeks a stark contrast for her pale skin and the ivory wool of her coat. He took a moment to look at her, so un-used to seeing her in anything but her normal lavender and white parka and blue pants that he almost didn't recognize her. She had a teal green band in her dark hair, it's plain colour offset with a little silken flower on one side, ivory-white petals tinged with the faintest coral. It looked... nice on her. She was holding something clutched in her arms, held against her chest. It was red, woolen. A blanket or something, he mused to himself, wondering what task she was ready to set him next.

"Hinata-sama."

He nodded in greeting, raising an eyebrow slightly as she swallowed nervously and squeaked his name, booted feet shuffling in the snow. Watching, he stood silently as she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath before thrusting the armful of red wool at him, her alabaster eyes staring at the ground, her face nearly as crimson as the yarn.

"H...h...here! I.... I made it for you..... Neji-niisan...."

Gracefully, he took the blanket, noting to himself as he did that it was far too small to be what he'd initially thought, eyes widening slightly as he unrolled a long scarlet scarf, the ends carefully braided and fringed. The girl in front of him fidgeted as the silence dragged on, her fingers nervously pushing against each other as she stared at the ground, waiting for his response. With a faint sigh, he draped the red wool around his shoulders, settling it to his satisfaction before nodding at her again.

"Thank you, Hinata-sama. It's very well-made. That was generous of you."

He regretted the cold formality of his words the instant they left his lips as she flinched slightly, catching her lower lip in her teeth. For a moment, he thought she would cry, until she raised her head to look him directly in the eye with another swallow.

"Neji-niisan...... I'm sorry. I've.... I've been unfair to you. I....I didn't....didn't think."

Neji noted with a small degree of surprise as she took another breath, her shaky voice firming as she continued, drawing strength from some hidden reserves he'd never known she possessed.

"I..I've only thought about what I wanted. About myself. And how I felt. Not about how you felt. I... I know I've put you into an awful position. And I'm sorry for that. So... after today.... I won't ask you to do things that you don't want to do... even if they're things that _I_ want you to do."

Catching her lip in her teeth again, she dropped her fidgeting hands, clasping them behind her and nervously digging the toe of her boot into the snow.

"So.... there's only one more thing I'll ask you to do, Neji-niisan. Just once.... would you kiss me? That... that's the last thing... that I want... that I'll ask for. I promise. After that.... I won't ask you to do things you don't want to do anymore."

He took a long moment to think, to consider, before nodding.

"Yes, Hinata-sama. If you wish."

Stepping forward, he softly cupped her cheek in his hand, tilting her face up to press his lips to the soft skin beside her mouth in a chaste kiss. Pulling back, he could see the flush on her cheeks, and see the sudden flash of disappointment in her eyes as she swallowed back the sting of his apparent rejection. She nodded, forcing a faint smile.

"Th...thank you.... Neji-niisan."

As she turned to leave, he caught her arm, his fingers wrapping around her wrist as he pointed upwards, directing her bewildered and almost tearful eyes to the clump of shiny green leaves tied to the lamp's arch with a brilliant crimson bow.

"We're under the mistletoe, Hinata-sama."

And without another word, he drew her back into his embrace, leaning down to capture her mouth with his in a tender kiss, his arm tightening around her waist and his fingers threading in her hair, kissing her the way he'd always wanted to, feeling her stiffen in surprise and then melt into it, her arms hesitantly finding their way around his neck to pull them closer together. After a few breathless moments, he pulled back to stare down at her, his eyes taking in her stunned expression as she shook her head.

"B..but... but Neji-niisan.... I said you didn't... that you didn't have to..."

He cut her off with a single fingertip pressed to her lips.

"I know. You said that I no longer have to do as you wish. And I'm not. That was what _I_ wanted, Hinata-sama."


	15. Magnetic North

**Title:** Magnetic North

_Neji_

Footfalls echoed, uneven against the rough ground, his slightly shambling gait faltering every few steps as he attempted to move his damaged leg in a closer semblance of it's former abilities. Gritting his teeth, the tall man raised his arm to shade the sun from eyes grown un-used to the brilliant light of midday, blinking in the sun's glare. There was still a long way to go, still what seemed an almost insurmountable distance between himself and his destination, but that wouldn't stop him.

Afterall... it wasn't simply _any_ old road that he was traversing. This was the road that led home.

Neji clenched his jaw as the end of the stout branch he was leaning on slipped, digging itself into softened ground and costing him his precious balance. Twisting to reshift his weight, he bit back a sharp exhalation of pain as the motion wrenched his left knee. The joint had never been the same, not since that enemy interrogator had stood over his outstretched leg, grinning in sadistic glee as he brought the butt of the hammer down on the captured Jounin's kneecap.

It had been a long time, years even, since he'd set foot into friendly territory, his 6-month long mission having ended in disastrous failure a scant 2 weeks into it's inception; his team captured, the three of them tortured, then left to rot in some godforsaken hole in the ground that barely qualified as a 'prison'. Obviously their captors hadn't wanted them to die, at least not at first. Otherwise there wouldn't have been the sporadic 'offerings' of rancid food that were tossed in every so often. Barely enough to sustain a single person, they'd been forced to rely on the tough and rubbery white lichen that grew on the walls of their prison. Water had been gleaned by bending - through careful application of something so primitive as a rock bashed against metal - one of their hitai-ate into a shallow dish. With that, they could slide their makeshift bowl through the small chink at the base of the wall to catch rainwater enough to stave off thirst.

At first, they'd raged against their captivity, bruised and broken bodies protesting loud and sharply as they'd worked together to search for a way out of the dank pit that had become their private hell. Fever had set in as his knee had swollen ominously, delerium and pain stealing away whole days of his memories as he drifted between lucid periods and nightmares of sickened fever-dreams. Eventually his own resilience had fought it off, and he'd come back to himself to discover that one of the others who'd gone into the hole with him had not been so lucky. And as the days dragged into weeks, then into months, he'd watched the light fade from his remaining companion's eyes until the man had simply given up. Laid down and refused to move again.

Death had been a swift visitor that time, and by the time the other Jounin's corpse had begun to swell and stink with fetid gases, he'd made up his mind that no matter what, HE would survive. Breach the surface and somehow claw his way free of this hellish nightmare that his life had turned into.

Ironically enough, it had been the veridian mark of the juuin on his forehead that had saved his life. The stoic Hyuuga had no doubt that with his bloodline he'd been considered a valuable captive. The brilliant lines cut into his skin had changed that, he could well remember the muffled curses that his captors had snarled when they'd wrenched the bandages from his forehead to find something other than smooth, unmarred skin. A sealed pair of Byakugan was useless to any rival village, and neither his death nor the forceful removal of his eyes would change the outcome. So instead, it had been torture, designed to break him and gain some useful information from his mind. He'd resisted, they had pushed harder, and the end result had been his consignment to the dark oubliette with body broken and will intact. He had given them nothing, and he had paid for it in blood and nightmares.

Neji no longer knew exactly how long it had been since that day when he - half-conscious from their last round of torture - had met the cold stone floor of the room with a jarring impact to a separated shoulder. The days and weeks and months had blurred together into something barely recognizable as time lost it's meaning in the dark. And then one day... release. Long after the food had stopped coming, long after he'd began to forget what it was like to be free, there had been a shifting of stones and earth, followed by a surprised yell as another body - a LIVING body this time - had plummeted down amidst a shower of rocks and turf to land with a rather displeased curse in the center of what had become his world.

It was hard to tell who had been the more surprised; the teenager who'd stumbled into the subterranean room, or the gaunt, half-starved man who'd begun to lose hope of ever finding release from his cage. That day had been a blur; was STILL a blur of shock and disbelief. He had seen the sunlight for the first time in longer than he even knew, and he wept unashamadely as he dropped to his knees on the grass, shoulders shaking in relief. They'd patched him up as best as they could, the boy and his mother, listening to his tale with horrified expressions on their faces before exchanging a look between the two of them. Then they had told him in halting, hesitant tones that if what he said were true... he'd spent the better part of four years in that pit, buried alive and that it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd survived. The shinobi outpost that had once stood on the spot had been abandoned the last 2 years, and it's resulting disrepair and dilapidation had been the appeal it now held for explorative youngsters.

Though they had offered him shelter, food, a place to stay and build a life, he'd refused. Something burned within him, something too strong for him to ignore. His body protested, so unused to anything beyond the small amount of activity he'd been restricted to in the dark hole, and it was almost a full season before he was strong enough to walk, a season and a half until he could consider himself at least strong enough to leave. And leave he had done, bidding his thanks to the family and setting off with an instinctive haste, towards the siren call of home.

_Hinata_

"I'll see you tomorrow, same time!"

With a cheerful wave, Hyuuga Hinata ushered her patient out the door before turning to gather up the scattered charts and records that littered the examination room counter. Rubbing her hand across her forehead with a heavy sigh, the dark-haired woman rotated both shoulders, glancing up at the clock with the relief that only one who has just put in a long day's work can appreciate. Finally, the end of the day and the end of the work. Locking the desk drawers, she stood up and swept out the door, flicking the light off as she did so. It wasn't often that she left before dusk when she took a shift at the hospital, though those same occurences had become more frequent since Hizashi was born. The son in question raised his head with a wide grin as she poked her head into the daycare room before sweeping him up into her arms and bouncing him slightly.

"He was perfect, like always. Never made a peep."

Nodding her thanks to the young girl at the desk, Hinata settled her son on her hip and headed out into the fading sunset light. The girls would be home from academy, which meant that Hiromi would be training in her favourite courtyard and Hazuki would be sweet-talking the house servants into letting her help cook. Shaking her head with a slight smile, the Hyuuga clan head began to make her way down the long road towards home.

Stopping here and there to pick up something from one of the little shops or storefronts - a new kunai for Hiromi, a pretty hairclip for Hazuki, something small and innocuous for Hizashi - the dark-haired kunoichi let her mind wander along pathways and directions long-since worn into habit. It had been four years, almost four and a half now, since the failed mission. Since her husband; the father of her children... had vanished. The girls had been 5, almost 6 when it had happened. When the news came that all three members of the team had disappeared less than a quarter of the way into what had been predicted to be a 6-month long mission. She could remember it now, the way the messenger's words had echoed with a soundless knell against the thundering rush of her own blood soaring through her veins. How everything in her field of vision seemed to tunnel, blackening at the edges until she'd suddenly been aware of Kiba's hand hard against her back as he pounded her shoulder with his fist and told her to breathe.

At first, she hadn't wanted to believe. After all, this was Hyuuga Neji. The indomitable, strong, determined man she had lost her heart to when but a child. The one who had been beside her for her entire life, though her eyes had refused to see the truth of her own heart until much later. He had never failed, never come back without completing a mission. 'Failure' wasn't a word in his vocabulary. He would come back. She had kept the news to herself, unwilling to accept it as truth until more news came; the team captured, witnesses who had seen the attack, who had seen her long-haired husband go down against a half-dozen ANBU. And she'd been forced to accept the impossible. That the one person she had thought would always fly... had fallen.

The tears hadn't come until later. Not because the sorrow had held itself at bay, but more... because of the girls. They had sat very still and stone-faced as she had told them, heart aching with every syllable, that their father was not coming back. Twin pairs of eyes, so like her own, so like HIS own, had stared up at her for a long moment before Hazuki began to cry and Hiromi simply nodded and hugged her mother in quiet acceptance. That night she had held her own tears in as she brushed two heads of long indigo hair, forcing a smile and taking comfort in the small warm forms of her daughters as she lay awake between them on the wide futon they had made of their two small ones. One arm found it's way around each precious part of the husband now lost, drawing them closer as she kissed each brow. She'd stayed that way until it was nearly dawn, until the tears had threatened to spill over her cheeks and fall. But she would not cry in front of them. And so she'd made her way back to the lonely bed in it's lonely room, and that was where she finally gave into her grief.

That had been a Tuesday. It had been Friday before she'd emerged from her room, with help from Sakura's gentle insistence and reminders that no matter how hard it was, her children needed her more than ever now. And so she had gotten to her feet again and kept going, taking each day as it came. Some had been harder than others, and there had been times when it had only been the insistent cries of 'Mommy' from down the hallway that spurred her onward. That made her remember why she kept going.

Hizashi had made it both harder and easier. She'd not known of her pregnancy before Neji left for his mission, and the revelation nearly three weeks after forcing herself to accept the truth of things had brought both joy and sorrow. Sorrow that Neji would never know, would never hold the new baby in his arms and smile that rare smile that so seldom graced his stoic features. Regret and anguish that while Hazuki and Hiromi could call up memories of gentle hands and strong arms and kind words, this child would never know the father who had given his life for his village. And also joy... a strange sort of almost-selfish joy that she had not been left entirely bereft. That in addition to the two girls she treasured above all, there would be another small piece of her husband left to share her life.

When the child had been a boy, she had cried tears of bittersweet pride at having finally been able to give him what she knew he'd always secretly wanted; a son. And as tempting as it had been to christen the boy with his father's name, she'd known from the first moment she laid eyes on her son that to do so would only serve to torment her with her loss, as the little boy was as much his father's son as his sisters favoured their mother. And so instead she had gone deeper, reached back further and given their son the name of one who had shaped their lives so much, and in doing so paid respects to a barely-remembered uncle and a much-missed father.

That had been three and a half years ago. Life had moved on, as it is always prone to do. Hinata had begun taking fewer away missions, instead focusing her efforts more on the hospital and the home, devoting her time and her focus to her children. They kept her sane, in a way, kept her from dwelling too much on things lost, things that could never be found. Her friends helped as well, Kiba bringing over little Amaya to play with Hizashi while the twins played a game of tag with Kohaku and Yurika under Sakura's watchful eyes. And while watching Kohaku's green eyes flash as he delivered another Lee-worthy speech about youth and hard work was amusing, and seeing Yurika trying to persuade Hiromi to braid her long locks in the same manner as Yurika's platinum ones heartwarming... the most rewarding part of the more-frequent playdates had been when Hazuki began to smile again, and when Hiromi stopped giving in and began rolling her eyes at the other girl again.

Ino and Sakura had noticed as well, and subtly encouraged their respective offspring even as they themselves supported their friend. Loss went hand-in-hand with their lives, it had touched many of them in some way and it was in that sameness that they found a deeper comeraderie. Kiba and Shino had tried to coaz her back into her work, suggesting more missions, missions that took her away from home on short trips at first, then local ones when they realized how loathe she was to leave her family. They invited her over for dinner, took turns offering to watch the kids, and did everything they could to offer what support they could. And it HAD helped, she couldn't deny that. It had helped so much that Hinata would have been unable to put it into words had she been asked to explain it. And now, almost four years since it had happened, she finally felt that her life was moving forward again. The girls had begun academy this past spring, and already they were a credit to their clan. Hizashi resembled his father more and more with every passing day, and she'd begun taking fewer and fewer missions, instead devoting her time to helping out in the hospital and the needs of the clan.

Her mental musings were broken by Hizashi's small voice as he insistently asked to be put down. Shaking her head slightly, Hinata knelt and set the small boy on his feet, nodding in assent as he automatically took her offered hand. He really WAS so much like his father at times, never wanting help, always stubbornly independent and stoic through whatever life brought to him. His hair had gotten long over the last year or so, and she'd taken to pulling it back in small mimicry of his father's long hair. With the ponytail down his back, in his black and white Hyuuga robes, it was almost like watching Neji all over again as she'd first met him. As the Hyuuga compound came into view, Hinata frowned as the front door flew open and a small figure skidded out and ran towards her, calling out.

"Mom! Mom! You... you've gotta..."

Hiromi skidded to a stop in front of her mother, panting heavily as she braced small hands against her knees, long hair shrouding her face as she gasped for breath, trying to speak around heavy inhalations.

"There... there's a... man... he came... Hazuki..."

Frown deepening, Hinata scooped her son up in her arms and took her daughter's hand in a tight grip. "Show me, Hiromi-chan..."

_Reunion_

The road home had indeed been as long as he'd thought, and he was shaking slightly from the exertion when he finally beheld the familiar red-painted gate with it's sentrypost beside. When he'd given his name to the two unfamiliar faces keeping guard, the syllables had been met with startled disbelief and a rather flustered demand that he prove what he was saying if he didn't relish a stay in prison. He'd counted on that, hell if he'd been his old self he would have chided them on letting him get as close to the gate as he had BEFORE demanding it of him. But now, after so long, it seemed only as another obstacle between him and his objective; home.

By the time they were satisfied with his identity, the two shinobi had wanted to announce him, to carry him directly to the Hokage so that he could be debriefed and have the medical treatment he so obviously needed in order to restore him to his former level. Knowing there was hardly any way to politely defer, to tell them that what he wanted, what he needed right now more than anything was not to be found in a hospital bed or a mission report, he had simply nodded quietly and waited for them to step away long enough to give them the slip. It wasn't as though he had forgotten the way. Time seemed to both fly and crawl until suddenly he was standing in front of the gate, staring up at the unchanged polished wood with it's etched characters and stone frame.

Swallowing back a sudden rush of emotion, Neji pushed the gate open, grimacing slightly as his shoulder protested against what would have once been an easy gesture. The courtyard was silent, and for that he was thankful as he made his way automatically towards the one place that continued to call to him with an ever-increasing insistence. The sound of children's laughter drew his attention, and as he came around the corner he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as the two girls giggled and teased each other. He could have almost mistaken them for Hinata, so alike in appearance were they to their mother, but he knew who they were without anyone even telling him. Gulping back the lump in his throat, he took another step forward towards his daughters, scarcely able to beleive how much they'd grown since he saw them last.

"...Hiromi...Hazuki-chan... you've grown..."

Twin heads shot up in alarm, the one drawing back slightly while the other set her jaw and reached for a kunai. It was hard not to chuckle. They had changed, certainly, but in some ways stayed the same. Hazuki always the shyer, like her quiet and gentle mother. Always softspoken and hesitant, a dreamer at times. And Hiromi, with her temper and her willfullness, determined to surpass everyone around her and protect her sister. Not for the curse of the juuin, having been born second - Hinata had outright refused to have any of her children caged thusly - but out of the bond they had always shared. The way it was _supposed_ to be with siblings, not the cruel mockery of bunke and soke that had existed for so many generations.

Seconds ticked by, long and silent, his words hanging in the air as they studied him, and he had to bite back the faint twinge of hurt that they hadn't immediately recognized him. Another moment and then another, and then Hiromi clenched her jaw in determination and darted out through the side door in a clattering of sandals and a swish of long hair, leaving him alone with his elder daughter. Hazuki, at least, seemed more receptive to his presence, as the little girl's eyes began to tear up and her lower lip quiver. Standing, she drew herself up with as much dignity as a ten-year old girl could muster and fixed him with a long, searching stare.

"D...Daddy...?"

Words seemed to fail him, as they'd done so often in the past at momentous occasions and Neji found that the only thing he could do was to simply nod and open his arms as his daughter flew at him, winding thin arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest with a wail.

That was how Hinata found them, moments later when she followed her stubborn daughter into the garden, Neji's tall form kneeling in the grass as he held Hazuki close to his chest, trying to soothe the girl's wild sobbing as he murmered softly into the top of her head. One hand came up to cover the small gasp, eyes widening in shocked disbelief as the man she'd thought lost raised his head to catch her tearfilled gaze with his own misty white one, those same tears spilling over and running down her cheeks as he smiled faintly and uttered the one thing she'd thought never to hear again.

"I'm home..."

Authors Notes: Ok, for anyone who is a bit lost, I'm of two minds on this fic. I like it bc I love the idea, but I feel that it rambled in a few places. The title is a reference to a compass' point and how no matter where you are or how far you have traveled, it will always point unerringly towards the same direction. Basically, it's set in a fictional future-time where Neji and Hinata are married and have twin daughters. When the girls are almost 6, Neji takes what is to be a 6-month long away mission. However, the mission ends disastrously when they are captured and subjected to torture and imprisonment. While Konoha believes them dead, the three waste away in a forgotten cell until only Neji is left, kept alive by his own determination to get back home to the family he left behind. He is found almost 4 years later by a passing villager, a teenager playing around at the old abandoned site that once housed the enemy base, and ultimately released and cared for. Driven by the need to return home, he comes back to the surprise of his wife and daughters, and to the son he never knew he had. I took the idea for this from stories of POW of Vietnam and other wars who came home years after being presumed dead, and I wanted to show not only the bittersweetness of the reunion, but the effects that perceived loss had on those left behind, in this case Hinata and her daughters. Hiromi, Hazuki, and Hizashi are my creations, drawn from my huge pot of OC-children that I make up and use here and there as I see fit, depending on which children I feel work best in the story whenever I write a story that has canon-based children.


	16. Nengajo Red and Black

**Nengajo**: Black and Red

Arching her back with a small mewling sound, Hinata raised her arms over her head and stretched, the muscles in her back tensing and then relaxing as she gave herself a break from what had obviously been too long a time of forced stillness. Straightening up again, she flexed sore fingers and gazed from the stack of neatly organized postcards sitting at the edge of the desk to the much smaller - since this afternoon, when she'd started working on them - pile of blank cards set off to the other side. The majority of the desk was scattered - again, neatly, she preferred things to stay as neat and orderly as possible even when she was working - with pens, brushes, and small bottles of ink. Here and there were little tin containers that held stamps, stickers, glitter, and other assortments of crafting aids. Smiling to herself, Hinata picked up one of the small tins between thumb and forefinger, setting it carefully on top of it's neighbor.

It was the holidays again, her favourite time of year. This year was her 16th birthday, and already the winter boded well - in her mind - for a wonderful holiday season. There was a fresh blanket of clean white snow on the ground, she'd finished her holiday shopping early, managed to impress her father with the results of her most recent bout of training, and now she was nearly done with her nengajo for this year.

Tugging one of the blank white cards from the stack, she placed it in front of her on the desk and set to work decorating it, adding intricate calligraphy designs to the borders and picking out little stickers or stamps to further set this one aside from all the others. She knew that most people simply purchased ready-made nengajo, or gave the same card to everyone, the only difference being perhaps in the written message. Which was perfectly fine for most folk, but Hinata had always enjoyed giving her cards the more personal touch. That being the case, every one of them was unique, tailored to the person who would receive it on the first day of the new year.

Writing the nengajo was her favourite part of the holiday celebrations, in part because it allowed her to escape the constant feeling of never being quite good enough. She knew this was something she was good at, though she always met the compliments she received with flushed cheeks and meek protests that no, her cards weren't THAT nice, she just took extra time on them. She also simply liked the activity. Writing was... easy, in a way. It was so much simpler at times to write thoughts down on paper or card than to actually will them up into your throat and speak them aloud. At least, it was easier for her. Other people, it seemed, had no trouble making their thoughts heard.

She reached for an envelope for the last card, blinking in surprise when her hand fell on another rectantle of thick white paper. Glancing from the stack of cards to the one in her hand, she set it down and picked up the small list she had been using. Well that was odd... she was fairly certain that she had purchased exactly the right number of cards for everyone, yet there was one still left. Maybe she had missed someone's name on the list? Mentally, she ticked off each name as she read over her own neat script. No, every single name on the list had been checked off. Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped the extra card back onto the desk. She must have grabbed an extra one by mistake at the store. Likely when she'd bumped into Sakura.

Thinking back to the other day, she couldn't help but blush at the memory. She and Sakura had hardly been the only people purchasing nengajo cards, but the pink-haired girl had been the one who noticed her pale-eyed friend first. What had started as a simple conversation had turned into something much more embarassing as the more outgoing girl had pressed Hinata about her own plans; specifically whether she was going to take advantage of the tradition to send a personalized message of affection to any one particular person. Hinata had turned scarlet and stammered a response, which was made all the more difficult by Sakura's gentle teasing and her assertion that 'even Naruto can't be so dense as to misunderstand a written message of love'. The Hyuuga heiress had been all too grateful to pay for her cards and get out of the shop as fast as she could before Sakura continued.

Even now, she shuddered at the thought of doing what Sakura had suggested. It was embarassing enough to admit your feelings to yourself, but to write a romantic love note? That... just seemed so far-fetched it was nearly impossible to even consider the possibility. But... was it really as easy as Sakura made it out to be? Chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, Hinata studied the empty square of white paper in front of her. It couldn't be all THAT hard, could it? Maybe she would try. Just to test it out, of course. There was no way in the world that she'd ever be brave enough to actually GIVE such a thing to anyone, but there wasn't any harm in writing something like that just to see if she could do it... was there?

Swallowing past her nervousness, she dipped her pen in red ink and began to write, haltingly at first, then with more ease as she slipped into the mindset of it. She supposed it wasn't all THAT difficult when you really thought about it. In a way... it was a little bit like writing a valentine, when you got right down to it. Only... there was something missing. Holding it up, she studied it, eyes tracing and reading over the neat lines of red printed script with their sweet messages. Somehow it seemed... fake, almost. Sighing, Hinata dipped her brush into the red ink again and began methodically painting over her words, tinting the entire surface of the card with crimson. That wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be some sort of generic set of verses. It was supposed to MEAN something, to convey her own deepest feelings.

That was the hard part, though. In all honesty... she didn't KNOW her own deepest feelings anymore than she really knew who she would want to give such a card to. Certainly there was Naruto. The blond had always taken foremost position in her thoughts, all sunshine and smiles and laughing blue eyes. He made her feel stronger just by being there, as though nothing could go wrong in her life and even if it did, he could brighten it with his smiles. But in spite of that, she knew somewhere deep inside, that his regard and care and ... love, if she was honest with herself, were those of a dear friend when he looked at her. And there was Kiba. Her teammate, who followed her around like a mix of best friend, big brother, and adoring puppy. She'd noticed it, of course, it was hard not to. She just... never knew how to respond to it. Kiba was nice, and she cared for him a great deal, but he always seemed to want to protect her. To have her let him be strong for her, while she stood behind in safety. Hinata... didn't want that, though she despaired of ever having the courage to be strong for herself.

And then... there was Neji. Her cousin, who's icy demeanor had warmed significantly over the last few years. They were now even on cordial terms, where he was prone to share polite conversation with her from time to time, and had ceased being so openly dismissive of her. He still considered her weak, but in spite of that he had begun taking time to help her train, small favours here and there. An escort to the gate when she went on mission, a carefully packed snack of onigiri when she slept through her alarm and had no time to pack her own. His manner hadn't changed all that much; he was still quiet most of the time, spoke little to her, and kept generally to himself, but there was a subtle closeness there that spoke of years long past, when they'd been much closer than they were now.

She liked that, liked the way that the tension between herself and her cousin had vanished, replaced by something... different. Something nice, that she found herself looking forward to whenever she'd catch a glimpse of him as they passed on their separate ways. She liked the way they could just sit, side by side on nights when neither one of them could sleep, saying nothing and simply watching the stars. She liked to watch him as he trained in the early mornings, eyes closed in concentration as he slowly moved body and limbs through the patterns of the jyuuken, elegant as a dancer in his motions. But even more than that, she liked the way he made her WANT to be stronger. Neji protected her, that was never in any doubt. His devotion to her ran as deeply through him as any duty, but she liked to hope that there was more to it than simple duty of bunke to soke. But in spite of that, he never tried to stop her from protecting herself. Never tried to stand in her way or convince her to step back. Even all those years belittleing her and reminding her how weak she was had only served to strengthen her resolve.

Neji made her FEEL stronger, when she got right to the heart of things. Glancing down, she was shocked to find that while her mind had wandered, her hand had been busy and across the red-coloured surface of the spare card was inked a rambling and somewhat disjointed confession in black ink of all the things she loved most about the jounin. Re-reading over her own musings, Hinata felt her cheeks heating up as she realized how easily her feelings conveyed through the simple words. It wasn't as though she'd written down anyone's name, but it seemed even more obvious to her that while she had been thinking about several people, the one who had truly captured her mind and her thoughts had been Neji.

Making up her mind to get rid of the card where no one would ever EVER find it, she nearly fell out of her chair with a startled bleat of surprise as the door banged open and her younger sister stuck her head into the room. Hinata's chair overbalanced and she tumbled to the ground in a heap amidst a sudden whirlwind of white cards as she knocked the stack over. Hanabi simply watched the chaos unfold before rolling her eyes with a disgusted sigh.

"Are you EVER going to be done with those stupid cards? It's dinnertime."

And with that, the smaller girl headed back down the hall, leaving her red-faced sister sitting on the floor amidst a shower of postcards.

Author's Note: OK, so this is the first of a little 2-part bit. I hadn't planned on any of the stories for my 30-kisses collection to be related to one another, but this one threatened to get v. long and rambly so I thought it would just be best broken up into 2 parts that could be a part of the whole collection but also stand alone as a cute little couplet. For anyone who doesn't know, a nengajo is a traditional new year's postcard that people in japan send out to friends and loved ones.


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